Because demiurgically_m asked:

I was the editor of e)mag in The Age/Sydney Morn­ing Herald. I had inter­viewed Hugh Jack­man and John Tra­volta at the Sword­fish press con­fer­ence that morn­ing. Not a one-on-one, just a few ques­tions from the floor.

That night was the premià¨re at Jeff’s Shed, a.k.a. The Mel­bourne Exhib­i­tion Centre. The ground in there is con­crete. I remem­ber really tacky stuff like plat­forms with dan­cers in metal cages dan­cing in skimpy out­fits with C4 belts. Someone offered me a tiny little white carton of Asian-style noodles and chop­sticks. I accep­ted, ate them. Wandered over to some people I knew who were posi­tioned next to the enorm­ous table covered in ice with oysters and sashimi and other things on it. Fin­ished my noodles, but kept one chop­stick to use in loosen­ing oysters from their shells. 

At one stage in dis­cus­sions, I was ges­tur­ing vehe­mently with my chop­stick, emphas­ising a point, when I caught the edge of my glasses, fling­ing them off my face and onto the floor. Smash. One lens was a starred wreck of frac­tured lines.

That’s me done,” I said to the crowd. “See you all tomorrow.”

Wait’ said my edit­or­ial assist­ant. “You haven’t said hello to Hugh Jack­man yet’

I don’t need to say hello to Hugh Jack­man. I inter­viewed him this morn­ing. I am not going to talk to him with cracked glasses. I’m fine.”

You don’t under­stand. I wasn’t there this morn­ing and I live vicari­ously through you. It’ll be a talk­ing point! A con­ver­sa­tion starter! You *have* to go and talk to him.” (This bit may not be exactly what she said.)

She led me through the crowd. Lit­er­ally. I had my glasses in my hand, so I was blind. I had my hand on her elbow. Peri­od­ic­ally, I snuck my glasses on quickly to see how close we were to the VIP space. Just as I was doing this one final time, Hugh Jack­man spot­ted me doing it. I quickly swept the glasses back off my face and into my hand.

Hugh: That must be driv­ing you crazy.

Me: Yep, I… uh… had a tragic chop­stick ges­ture accident.

Hugh: Are you short-sighted or long-sighted?

Me: Very, very short-sighted. You cur­rently have no eyes.

Hugh: So, where would I come into focus?

Me (indic­at­ing point about three cen­ti­metres from my face with my fin­gers): Oh, about here…

Hugh (moving closer to me so that he is three cen­ti­metres from my face): Is that better?

Me (strug­gling to breathe and think­ing “kiss him, kiss him”): Uh huh…

Hugh (in the sex­i­est voice I have ever heard from anyone in my life): I better step back… People might… talk…

We then had a lovely con­ver­sa­tion about a whole lot of things, includ­ing the fact that at least he’d never forget me.